


Your Eyes Have Their Silence

by lady_krysis (saekhwa)



Category: The Losers (2010)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Canon Character of Color, Character of Color, Community: kink_bingo, Double Penetration, Hand Job, Kinks, M/M, Male Protagonist, Missing Scene, Multi, POV Male Character, Silence Kink, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M, Перевод на русский | Translation in Russian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-29
Updated: 2010-06-29
Packaged: 2017-10-10 07:56:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/97414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saekhwa/pseuds/lady_krysis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clay's mission is to get his team back home and to get Cougar to say <em>something</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Eyes Have Their Silence

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://lunesque.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**lunesque**](http://lunesque.dreamwidth.org/), who enables me like you wouldn't believe. But she found it in her absolute darling heart to beta this for me, so a ton of thanks to her for that. Title taken from a line in e.e. cumming's poem "somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond." Also, OMG, I have accomplished fic! Four more to go.
> 
> 06/2011 - There is [a Russian translation available](http://www.diary.ru/~heidelfiction/p163497727.htm) of this fic! :D :D Translation done by Heidel.

Bolivia fucks them up. Clay can see it behind his eyes when he lays his head down on sweat-damp pillows, the South American heat sinking into his bones until it feels like the fire from the wreckage. He dreams of it most nights — the flames licking at his knuckles when he tossed their dog tags in, the burnt husk of the bodies, the smell of shit gone so wrong that he knew he'd never be able to forget. He vowed right then and there to take Max down, no matter the cost.

His team follows him through the thick of it, the heat and the endless swathe of trees and the wetlands and the rain until they're risking pneumonia and boot rot. They're dead men. It changes every single one of them.

Clay can see it in their faces when he makes the decision to stay in Bolivia, settle down in Rurrenabaque in the Iténez Province. It's in the absence of their talking those first few days, in the weight of their eyes and their sidelong looks as they search for a way home. They bear through it and stick together. The situation isn't ideal, but it's almost okay. Except for Cougar.

Cougar's always been quiet, but he goes really quiet for weeks after, like he's in prayer, his head bowed, the brim of his hat hiding his face most days. There are some things a man can't hide, though.

When Clay gets Cougar stretched out beneath him, he can see the ghosts in Cougar's eyes just before Cougar slides them shut and arches. Cougar thrusts into Clay's fist, his body yearning for that last sweet pull that his mouth won't verbalize. Clay gives it to him and watches Cougar's lips part on a silent gasp when he comes.

The room is silent save for the sound of Clay's heavy breathing.

~*~

They're soldiers; they make do. Jensen and Cougar get jobs at the local factory, and Pooch works the tourist circuit. Clay and Roque stick to the odd jobs, whatever work they can find in the area with what little Spanish they know. They don't turn away much.

Then at the end of the day, there's no contest. They pool their resources together and make do some more, getting what supplies they can to make it through another day. So when the humid nights become too heavy, they get cheap hotel rooms and Clay listens to the sloppy, desperate sounds of his team trying to find home.

Tonight, he has his mouth wrapped around Cougar's dick, licks the underside and traces the flare with the tip of his tongue until Cougar is shaking, fingers clenching and unclenching around Clay's shoulders. Cougar still doesn't make a sound, not even to warn Clay that he's about to shoot. He just taps Clay's shoulder and then pushes with the heel of his palm, hips twitching beneath Clay's hand. Cougar relents, though, when Clay bobs back down with a rough squeeze to his thigh and sucks harder in response, trying to listen for Cougar over the wet suction of his own mouth.

Maybe Cougar sighs, maybe Cougar gasps — Clay doesn't know, can't hear. There's only the rush of Cougar thrusting one last time and then the bitter spurt of his come coating the back of Clay's tongue. Everything else gets lost to the ringing in Clay's ears.

~*~

The days start filling up with what they don't have. Clay's team is good — one of the best — but the days get longer and the nights get harder, and Clay can't ignore the longing and the hope in Jensen's and Pooch's eyes when they talk about their families. He can't ignore the rumble of Roque's voice at his ear, asking, "When?"

The only one not asking is Cougar, not even when Clay gets Cougar on his back again. He licks a line from one nipple to the next, drags his teeth over the curve of Cougar's ribs, slides his lips to the jut of Cougar's hip bone, but Cougar keeps his silence. He's shaking, damn near thrashing on the cot, but remains ever silent. Clay wants to slap him or shake him or both and order him to _say something, goddamn it_.

Clay doesn't, even though his palms tingle with the urge, the desire beating hard at his pulse points until he can feel it in his teeth when he mouths the inside of Cougar's thigh. He has an urge to bite, but he smudges a kiss there instead. When he feels that sharp prickle like he's on the bad end of a gun, he flicks his eyes up to Cougar's face. Cougar stares down at him, eyes dark, pupils blown wide, and his gaze level and steady. Cougar doesn't say a word. Neither does Clay until he's sinking into the heat of Cougar's body, a groan rumbling up from his chest.

Clay closes his eyes and listens to the wild slap of their bodies, which is soon masked by the roar of blood in his ears when he comes.

~*~

Clay's whole military career he's learned to throw some plans out the window and shoot 'em. It's worked up until the chopper and the kids, but Clay tries not to think about that. It was his willingness to improvise that got him command of his team. They're called the Losers for a reason, and it's one that Clay will always be damn proud of despite the bag of shit handle.

He wants to make sure Cougar's still with the team, needs more than a nod or a sí. It's not until he has Cougar pressed against the wall, cupping Cougar's groin, and asks point blank that he realizes he's fishing for a no.

Cougar looks Clay dead in the eyes, gives him a voiceless nod, and then sinks to his knees before Clay can say anything more.

~*~

The first time Clay invites Roque to be with them, Roque chooses to sit in the corner of the room and watch, his ankle propped on his knee, his ever-present combat blade resting across his lap, and his elbow cocked on the arm of the chair. The weight of Roque's and Cougar's silence is heavy, damn near oppressive, but neither man says anything when Clay twists his lube-slick fingers into the tight clutch of Cougar's body, one at a time, until Cougar pushes down, hands fisted so tightly in the sheets that he's pulling them off the bed.

Clay slants his mouth over Cougar's, aware of Roque in the corner, watching them kiss, watching them fuck, and neither man has one goddamn thing to say. It's Clay who groans when he comes, each jagged breath loud in the room. When he opens his eyes, he follows Cougar's heavy-lidded stare to Roque's passive face.

Clay smoothes a hand down Cougar's leg and pulls free of Cougar's body. Cougar stretches out on the bed, flicks his eyes to the bathroom door, and Clay nods. He follows Roque into the bathroom and doesn't flinch when Roque shuts the door behind him.

"What do you want?" Roque asks, leaning against the door, arms folded across his chest like he's asked for a sit-rep despite the obvious bulge in his slacks.

Clay washes his hands at the sink. "Mission hasn't changed."

"So this is a mission?" Clay catches the motion of Roque's hand in the mirror. "What's the objective?"

"Get us home," Clay says and wets a washcloth.

Clay stares at Roque through the mirror when Roque's arms circle around his waist, Roque's right hand dipping down his stomach and curling around his softening cock. "Home ain't here, Clay."

Clay grins, the gesture stretching his whole mouth and revealing a flash of teeth as he reaches behind him to cup Roque through his pants. "Pretty damn close, though."

~*~

It's close to a week out before anything happens because Clay and Roque are caught up in another job that takes them into the Cercado Province. By the time Clay and Roque get back, Clay's too damn tired of dead-end leads, so he holes up for a day to sleep.

When the bed springs creak, the mattress shifting from an extra weight, Clay immediately wakes up, alert, and reaches for a gun that's not there.

"Shhh."

A hand closes around his wrist and draws it back against his chest, a warm breath blowing across the damp hairs on his nape. "Just us."

Clay relaxes at the sound of Roque's voice and turns his head to see Cougar hanging his hat on the lamp shade. Cougar stretches beside Clay and drapes an arm across Clay's waist. He whispers something in Spanish — the most he's said all damn month — but Clay's too tired to remark on it. It's too hot to be pressed between two bodies like this, but Clay falls asleep anyway, the silent weight of their arms around him as good an all clear as he's going to get.

~*~

Clay emerges from the bathroom, freshly showered, to Roque's, "You sure this is what you want?"

"Yes."

Clay looks between the two men and then around the room as he approaches the bed. "What's going on?"

"You always so suspicious?" Roque asks.

Clay grins. "Covert ops. It comes with the job."

"You make it sound like a perk."

"Could be. Sometimes is."

Clay lets Roque catch his hip and draw him in, down toward the bed.

"You still want this?" Roque asks, his fingers already hooked into the towel wrapped around Clay's waist.

"You wanna clarify 'this'?" Roque stares at him, unblinking, and Clay traces the scar running down Roque's cheek with the pad of his thumb. "Yes." Then Clay looks at Cougar casually stretched out on the bed, his hat covering his face like he's napping. "Do you?"

Cougar pushes up the brim of his hat with his thumb and quirks a grin, so natural and carefree that Clay didn't realize how tense he was until he relaxes at the sight of it and the sound of Cougar's soft, sure, "Sí."

Clay goes to Cougar, feeling a sharp tug at his waist when he slides onto the bed and then nothing but air against his bare skin. He's not bare for long, Cougar's hands hot on Clay's hips when they kiss, slow and easy, both of them taking their time to explore each other's mouths like they're not already familiar with the taste. There's only the sound of their kissing until Clay shifts, the bed springs creaking underneath them as he runs his cool palms up Cougar's bare sides.

When Cougar breaks the kiss, turning his head so he can set his hat aside, Clay bites a path down Cougar's chest, easing his way between Cougar's legs. He rubs Cougar's stomach with the rough stubble of his chin as he works Cougar's pants open and then off, his heart skipping at the sight of Cougar's half-hard cock. Clay licks a stripe up the length of it but only gets the sound of his own moan when he stretches his lips around the crown and sucks.

Roque doesn't say a damn thing either, but Clay is pretty damn sure there's no way either man is going to be silent for long. So the room fills with the sounds Clay makes and the rustle of the sheets and the groan of the mattress springs when they shift and roll until Cougar is straddling Clay's hips and Roque is settled behind Cougar.

Clay follows the shadows sketched across Cougar's skin with the tips of his fingers, the warm flush of Cougar's arousal pulsing in his cock. Clay wants to get his mouth around it again, suck the blood-red head until his throat is thick with Cougar's come. Instead, Clay clamps a hand around the back of Cougar's neck and draws him down for another kiss, licking his way into the warmth of Cougar's mouth and chasing after the soft texture of Cougar's tongue.

No point in keeping silent, so Clay doesn't bother, breathing out his pleasure in moans and panted breaths, letting Cougar know exactly how his touch affects him. Clay's rewarded when Cougar tosses his head back and rocks, the stiff length of his cock curved so sharply upward that it nearly touches his stomach.

By the time Roque grips Clay's dick and rolls on a condom, Clay's near delirious with the anticipation, his breath hitching at the sharp stroke of Roque's fist on his shaft.

"Coug—" Clay has to clear his throat and cups Cougar's cheeks. "Cougar."

Cougar opens his eyes to mere slits and nods before Clay can ask, swallowing hard and nodding again. Then Cougar reaches around, ripping a moan from Clay's throat when he wraps his fingers around Clay's dick and squeezes. It's nothing compared to the squeeze of Cougar's body when he sinks down, his muscles clenching and unclenching around Clay's cock with every inch.

A hard shudder rolls through them both, and Clay blows out a long breath, sucking it back in when Cougar starts to rock his hips, slowly pulling up only to slam back down.

"Ease up," Roque says, his voice rough, and Clay is thankful for the interruption, unsure of whether he'd have been able to hold off otherwise.

The pressure of Roque's fingers when he slides them into Cougar's body don't help, and Clay makes a strangled sound that for all intents and purposes is supposed to be a 'hurry the hell up.' Clay tries to relax when Roque pats his thigh, giving it a short squeeze; it means Clay won't have to wait long. So he breathes out, slow and steady, breathes in, and nearly chokes when Cougar suddenly clamps down and arches, fisting the sheets on either side of Clay's head.

Cougar's eyes are squeezed shut, his mouth parted, and his arms locked ramrod straight, but Clay can see the muscles quivering and smoothes his hands up Cougar's biceps.

"Hey, look at me," Clay says, his tone gruffer than he intends, but it's probably the command in his voice that gets Cougar to open his eyes. Clay sweeps the sweat-damp strands of Cougar's hair off his forehead and holds Cougar's eyes until they focus on him. "You good?"

Cougar nods, a short, abrupt up-down motion of his head, and when his lips part, he gives Clay a breathless, "Yes."

"You good?" Roque asks, and Clay darts a look at him, gives a nod in the affirmative, and squeezes his eyes shut when Roque continues to thrust his fingers, the sound heady and obscene in the quiet room.

Clay keeps as still as he's able, but his muscles jump with every curl of Roque's fingers. It's the look Cougar shoots him that gets Roque moving with a sharp smile. Clay closes his eyes and holds his breath when the blunt head of Roque's cock nudges alongside his.

"Move any slower, Roque, and your ass'll be dragging dust."

Then Clay's spine is bowing, and he scrabbles for purchase, scratching Cougar's waist and clawing at the bed when Roque slams home. But it's the low, guttural groan coming from Cougar that has Clay's breath hitching and snapping like a rubber band held too taut for too long. He comes with that sound skittering through his skin and drowns it out with a desperate, ragged groan of his own that echoes in his ears before the slick slap of bodies finally penetrates the fog that's settled over him.

"Too quick for you?" Roque asks, and Clay can only laugh, too dazed to do much else.

But his cock is still hard, so he grips Cougar's hips and fucks into him with short, sharp thrusts that make Cougar quake. Cougar doesn't make another sound, but he shakes until his arms give out and he's collapsing on top of Clay, his beard scraping Clay's shoulder with each snap of Roque's hips. Roque mutters something under his breath, maybe a curse, maybe a groan, and Clay looks up to see his eyes squeezed tightly shut, throat convulsing, so Clay knows he's close.

Clay pushes Cougar up enough to get a hand around Cougar's cock. He barely squeezes before Cougar's shooting into his fist, Cougar's mouth pressed hard and fast to Clay's shoulder. Roque thrusts one more time, deep and hard, and then his rhythm stutters out as he comes, rocking Cougar forward until he's spent.

Roque slumps over, crushing Clay into the bed, but Clay's too sated and blissed out to give a damn. He reaches for Roque, finding Roque's thigh, and skims a hand through the sheen of sweat beaded on Roque's skin. Clay smoothes his other hand up and down Cougar's side, smiling at the harsh, rapid thump of Cougar's heart.

"One of these days," Clay promises, his throat dry and his voice sex-gruff.

He feels the stretch of Cougar's smile against his skin and a small shiver when he lightens his touch. "Maybe."

"Maybe not," Roque says. The bed springs groan when he rolls, stretching on the mattress beside Clay, Adam's apple bobbing when he sucks in a breath. "Gotta be careful with those promises, Clay."

Clay feels a laugh rumble up from his chest and reaches out, covering Roque's hand, skimming the other one up Cougar's back. "I only make the ones I can keep."


End file.
